A Touch of AADD

It’s possible I may have a touch of AADD (Adult Attention Deficit Disorder). Right now, I’m typing on a laptop, flipping back and forth between email and Facebook, and watching a TV show recorded earlier (fast forwarding through the commercials).

I tell people I get bored easily, but the truth is … well, that IS the truth. I DO get bored easily.

Then, after a day of fast forward, I expect to fall asleep instantly, and sleep soundly for several hours and wake refreshed. Ha! Impossible. 

My son told me the problem is the laptop and TV …something in the light interferes with the production of melatonin, preventing sleep. Is that true? I didn’t ask him to cite his source … he’s a 30-something kid, what does he know about the sleep patterns of his elders?

He does have a point. I do keep the laptop on until the last minute before bed. Could it be?  Time for an experiment ....

For the last couple weeks, I've been doing things a bit differently.  I don't watch the news on TV before bed, or any TV show.  I turn off the TV and the laptop at least 30 minutes before going to bed, and choose one of the 6 or 7 books I keep by my bedside to read for 30 minutes. When I turn out the lights finally, instead of tossing and turning and watching the clock, I make a mental gratitude list … just think of all the things I’m grateful for, usually starting off the list with “warm comfortable bed.” I’m starting to fall asleep instantly. If I wake up, I return to the mental gratitude list until I fall back asleep again, and try really hard not to look at the clock at all.

And it’s working! I’m falling asleep quicker than ever, and waking up in a pretty good mood (all those gratitude lists does something for my emotional state.)

Have trouble sleeping?  Try an experiment ... turn off the TVand the computer. Read a book instead.  You might find that simple change in your routine makes a difference.

Of course, I still crave a nap mid-afternoon. But that doesn’t count.

What you should never ask your date ...

We’re going to get personal here. It's time for an adult conversation. I thought it was obvious that some things need to remain private, but it seems not everyone is clued in to the obvious. Some people still don’t get it. This is just MY opinion, of course. You may have a different opinion, but a random poll among my friends indicates other people agree with me.

Here’s what happened ... and as I continue, I want you to know anonymity has been preserved.

Friends can be any gender.

I’ve always had a mixture of friends, both male, female, gay, straight, transgender. Gender doesn't matter. What's important to me is if we like each other, if we have similar interests and values. Any male friend is just like a female friend, only a guy ... a guy who is not a boyfriend or a significant other or a lover, but a friend. We can talk and laugh and cry on each other’s shoulders, just like I would with a female friend.

One guy I met last summer (let’s call him “Tex"), I considered a friend. We had some shared activities, and got to know each other over a period of months. One night we met at a coffee shop for dinner and made plans to meet to see a movie a few days later (as friends! We split the bill!)  My schedule got all jumbled up, and I wasn’t able to make the movie, so I gave him my address and invited him over to my house later that evening for a glass of wine.  

First, define terms!

I recommend before you get to this point, alone with someone who is gender appropriate for romance, you define your terms—terms like “friend” and “date” and “boyfriend” or “girlfriend.”  If you don’t define terms, you might find yourself in a very uncomfortable position. I inadvertently skipped this part. I won’t skip it again.  

We settled in for what I thought would be a pleasant evening of chatting, of “getting to know you,” when Tex suddenly said, “So, we’re dating now.”  

What the … “WE ARE???” I wasn't polite. 

“Yeah,” he said, “first we had dinner and now we’re at your place, drinking wine. Two dates. We’re dating.” 

Not in my world! I instantly realized I really didn’t want to get to know him any better—we really didn't have anything in common. Unfortunately, by the time I had that realization, he was comfortably sitting in my living room enjoying that glass of wine, it was late, and it was pretty clear he didn’t expect to be leaving that night.

So, define your terms. You have to, because dating isn’t the same at my age, in the over-50 crowd, as it was when we were younger. With some single people in this age bracket, there’s an underlying frantic feeling, a desperation, a “now or never” mentality. Some people are hoping each new person they meet will be that special someone who will stick with them into advancing old age (which feels right around the corner at this point). And we’re all suspicious of motives. A friend told me that in her experience, most men and women at our age are looking for “a nurse or a purse.”  Where’s the love?

One thing I’ve learned to be true is that if a lady invites a certain type of guy into her home, that guy thinks he is going to be invited into ALL the rooms, not just the living room.

So here’s Tex, in my living room, drinking wine, and finally figuring out that he’s not going to be invited anywhere past the living room. He stops trying to be charming, and shows his real self. He comments that maybe I’m not that experienced (meaning, with men) and that’s why I’m staying on my side of the room and not cuddling with him on the sofa. I’m too stunned at his comment to reply so I don’t say anything … sadly, he interprets my stunned silence as an invitation to keep talking.  

What you should never ask your date ...

“So how many have you been with? Just a ball park figure. One hand or two?” And he held up his hands to illustrate his question, 5-ish or 10-ish.

I immediately burst out laughing. And laughing. loudly. Want to get rid of a guy? Laugh at him, works every time. I finally stopped laughing long enough to choke out a reply. I told him that I’d never answer that question, nor would I ever ask it.  

“Why not,” he asked. “It’s ancient history.”  

“Exactly!” I said as I got up, walked over to the front door and opened it—a gesture that could not be misinterpreted.

It was definitely going to be the last time I saw him, and I’m very proud to say I was gracious, even while under attack.  A hostess has to be gracious, no matter how rude her guest, right? I didn’t mock him … other than laughing, of course.  I even let him have his last insulting word as he left.  Then I made sure all my doors were locked tight.

Here’s what my friends wanted to say to him …

I shared this with my girlfriends, and, once they finished laughing, they had the best one-line responses to his “5-ish or 10-ish” gesture, things I really wished I'd said.  Here’s a sampling: 

“Can I count my toes, too?” 

“Can I go around more than once?” 

“If there was more than one person at a time, do I count that as one or three?”  

And my personal favorite, “Let’s see now, you just want to know about the guys, right?”

In case you run into him, feel free to use these lines.  Just let me know how it goes.      

Why aren't kids today protesting something meaningful?

Disclaimer: If you’re a law-and-order follow-the-rules sort of person, my suggestion is that you stop reading right now.  If you keep reading, you’ll probably just get annoyed.  You might not be able to tell immediately, but I'm a lot like you. I always follow the rules, that is, as long as they make sense, don’t hurt anyone, and as long as I don’t have a compelling reason from a higher moral authority to do something else. 

I believe in protest.  I believe protesting against societal norms that need changing is more than a right and a privilege, it’s a duty.  Perhaps it was because I was born in the post-World War II era, but from an early age, I believed that good people need to stand united against evil; otherwise the Hitler’s of the world will just take over.

Back in the day …
In the 1970’s, I was in my late teens and early 20’s and was fortunate enough to live in the San Francisco area. World issues felt vital, important, and meaningful. The old way of doing things was killing off my friends in a war nobody wanted, and we had to do something about it. You know, like marching for peace, for civil rights, for farm workers rights, to end the war, and get Nixon out of office. Follow the rules? Not us. We had an ideal of Peace, Love and Rock & Roll (that higher moral authority). Civil disobedience was a way of life, because we knew evil had to be stopped in order for us all to have a better future. 

This was my reality; I thought it was like this everywhere in the country. I believed in this fight. I knew everything we were fighting for was possible: peace and love and equal rights for all. We … those of us who were under the age of 30 in the 70's … had passion and energy and ideals. Collectively, when we focused our energy on those ideals and marched down the middle of the street waving signs and chanting, we had raw power.

Protesting is a young person’s game, though.  Young people have energy and passion and a desire to create the world in which they want to live, and a need to change old ways of thinking that are no longer viable.  Those early years of protest faded away when I became a parent and had other things to do besides march down the street carrying a sign.  I didn’t become complacent … I didn’t give up … but I did believe that I had my turn at protesting, and it was time for the next 20-somethings to pick up a sign.

Passing the torch ...
So, I did my time protesting and then I passed the torch onto the next generation. But someone dropped it along the way. I mean, look at what’s happening today—and our kids aren’t even paying attention. There are wars unending, civil rights violations, freedoms being taken away. Here’s an example… just look at our food supply: Monsanto, GMO’s, neonicotinoids (ingredient in pesticide that kills bee colonies), all legal in the U.S. but banned or restricted in Europe and other countries world-wide.

Is anybody paying attention? Do kids today care about what's happening in their world?

Back into action …
Maybe it’s time to get back into action. Call around, line up some concerned friends, pick a date and march against Monsanto or GMO’s or neonicotinoids. It doesn’t have quite the same ring to it as a march to end the war or to get equal rights for all, but it’s just as important.

Oh, that already happened? You're telling me that on March 25, 2013, in some 400 cities across the country, people gathered to march against Monsanto? I don’t remember reading about it. Why wasn’t that ground-breaking news?

Sometimes age does matter …
Here’s the thing. A gathering of 20-somethings, all ramped up with energy and passion, marching down the street, fighting for their future by waving signs and pumping their fists up in the air will get everyone's attention. Some people would even fear those kids, but that's the sort of fear that creates change.

A march composed mainly of middle-aged people, 40- or 50- or 60-somethings, all marching down the street waving fists and carrying signs doesn’t have the same energy, doesn’t have the same effect. Does it seem like the recent march against Monsanto made Monsanto change its tactics? I don’t think so.

So, why aren't kids today protesting something meaningful?
I see riots outside of stores that sell the latest and greatest smartphone. Is that what's passing for a meaningful protest today? And then, what? I'm not advocating civil disobedience ... not in today's world, certainly. After all, even I learned to follow the rules ... at least most of them. But there are other ways to protest: get permits to gather, use social media ... get creative!

Come on, kids, it’s YOUR future, YOUR world, the health of YOUR children that’s at risk here. You're needed--the world needs your energy, your strength, the danger of your youth to make any immediate large scale change. 

So kids … here’s what you need to do … back away from the computer, go outside, and see if you can find a honeybee anywhere … No? What are you going to do about it?

The Adult Dating Scene Is Awkward

This whole dating scene as an older adult is awkward and intimidating and sometimes, not very much fun. It's almost intimidating enough to make me want to stay home alone with Miss Kitty and my books.  Of course, that's one good thing about marriage … you don’t have to date (yeah, I know, some of you still do, but that’s a topic for another day).

There’s a different feel to the whole game now. When I was young, it was “in” to go to single’s bars, like “clubbing” is today, I think. It was THE thing to do: get all dressed up, grab a few friends, go drink and dance at very loud places … see and be seen. It was fun, it was exciting,  and it was never serious. Few people ever scored a big romance let alone a marriage partner from this scene, but then again, no one I knew really expected to find that someone who would be special for a lifetime. We all just hoped to find someone who would be special for a weekend. Well, maybe some people lied to themselves about their intention, but I don’t have that ability. I calls ‘em as I sees ‘em.

It’s the same game for the single-over-50-crowd today, except we now have the Internet to help us. We have “meet-ups” and speed dating and a huge variety of online dating sites, all geared to help us connect with each other. We seem to need these, otherwise the danger is we might all just stay at home with our computers and our Kindle’s and our TV’s.

We don’t take chances because we’re all grown up now, and we don’t have the luxury of time. We no longer have a “no sex on the first date,” rule, but we do have a “safe sex” rule. We don’t worry about getting pregnant, but we do worry about disease. We don’t go on a discovery mission to find out who someone really is, we check credit scores and criminal history. We have all these magnificent tools to help us connect with a person appropriate for us, someone who’s been pre-screened and vetted and found to be in harmony with our deepest core values.  Apparently, this is what passes for romance nowadays.

Are all those tools really all that precise? I don’t think so.  I dated someone recently ... and briefly ... I really thought he would be interesting.  He was charming and handsome and popular with the ladies.  It didn't last long—my interest in him dropped sharply the moment he first stepped into my living room.  He looked around at all my books, stacked lovingly into neat piles with Miss Kitty sleeping next to one pile, and asked, “Just how smart do I have to be?” I asked him what he meant and he replied, “I haven’t read a book in years. I don’t really need to; I learn all I need from watching people and watching TV.”   

Fail. Epic fail.

He didn’t get a chance to use his charm and good looks past the living room, because, really, as it turns out, for what he was offering, I’d rather stay home alone and read a book. 

How smart does a guy have to be? Well, if you have to ask ….

The Secret To Being Happy

Giving brings happiness, that’s what I've always been told.  But how can that be?  I mean, it isn't easy to give, I have a house payment and car insurance and all these things that demand my money, and if you throw “giving” money to someone else into that mix, what’s left for me? 

It is possible, and it doesn't have anything to do with money.  It’s something else entirely.

A friend of mine, who lives in a rural community, wanted to start a “community dinner” for the poor in her area.  She mobilized the church ladies from several churches to purchase the food and prepare it.  She planned the dinner for the last week of the month, the week that improvised families are running out of money.    She arranged to have the dinner is a central, easy-to-get-to location.  And the dinner was a huge success, but not in the way she envisioned.

She told me that the first couple dinners were full of guests, poor people sitting by themselves or their families, eyes downcast, minimal talking, with the church ladies who were serving the meal maintaining a loud and cheerful banter.  It was the dinner my friend had envisioned creating, and she felt good about it all.  She created a place where people were being fed when they most needed it. 

But then, it changed.  One of the guests brought a jar of homemade blackberry jam to share, a treasure made at the height of summer when blackberries grew everywhere and could be collected free.  The next month, another person brought a pie, someone else brought homemade bread.  My friend said she told her dinner guests, “No, no, please don’t bring anything.  We want to give to you.” But still they brought stuff.  And they shared.  The ones who didn't have something to bring got there early to help set up, and others stayed later to help clean up.  And they no longer sat silently alone with their eyes downcast, but they greeted each other as friends, and they talked and laughed and shared.  The community dinner no longer belonged exclusively to the church ladies.  It belonged to the community.

I doubt if a single guest at that dinner had a mortgage payment to worry about, although some of them may have had rent payments.  But they still found things to give to each other, and as they shared with one another, they made friends, they laughed, they found joy.

See?  It’s not really about giving money.  It’s really about sharing, and in that sharing is a magic that creates joy, creates community. 

I now pay attention to see what I can do.   If I made blackberry jam, I could share that, or if I had money, I could share that, but for me, most frequently I have time to share.  And when I do, I find joy in the sharing, and I meet new friends, and in all of that, community.

Try it.  It works.  

I enjoy living alone, stop bugging me about it!

I was talking to this guy at a dinner party. We’d just met. He’s already told me that he’s been happily married for a decade or two or three, and he’s just figured out my single status.

He hasn't asked how long I've been single (thank goodness!) or how many times I've been married (thank goodness again!) or even if I’m dating or in a relationship. I don’t expect those questions from him, after all, he’s happily married. I also don’t expect what he asks instead. He sort of tilts his head back and with a smile (or is it a smirk?) asks me if my last experience at marriage was so bad that I decided to swear off men.

I don’t know what to say … I’m flabbergasted. The arrogance of this idiot! As I sort of stumble around trying to figure out how to respond, he reaches over and pats my hand (PATS MY HAND! Can you believe it?) and tells me it’s all right.

“What’s all right?” I ask. 

“Well, that you’re single. You’ll find someone when you’re ready.”

I’m speechless. I’m shocked. I’m angry. He’s insulted me by inferring that there’s something wrong with me because I’m not married. I stifle an impulse to punch him in the nose. I would have, if I’d been assured he wouldn't punch back. Or have me arrested. “Why do you assume I need to be married?” I finally ask. He stops smiling. I’m not playing the game by the rules, his rules, and he doesn't want to talk to me any longer. We are in agreement on this … I don’t want to talk with him either. We move apart and I head for the buffet table. Eating soothes me when I’m angry. Okay, now, that was a lie … I went to the buffet table to get another glass of wine. I was plenty annoyed.

So here’s the deal: I’m a single lady, slightly older single lady, living alone with a dog and a cat. One … and only one … of each. I’m happier than I've ever been before in my life. Sure, I want that special someone, but I don’t want that special someone to live with me. I want him to live in San Diego or Portland or Denver. Someplace cool enough that I’d want to visit him there. I know that I live someplace cool enough that he would want to visit me here. We can get together every other week or so to love and laugh and preen and thrill and have fun, but then I get to be home alone. I could be very happy for a long, long while with that guy.

Know of anyone?

The Homeless Guy In The Park

I've become friends with this homeless guy, Bob, I see every day when I walk my dog in the park.  Bob’s  home is an ancient van, and I find him in the same spot in the park every day.  At night, Bob moves his van outside the gate when they lock it, and moves it back in the morning when they open it again.  There’s quite a thriving homeless population (can I use the word “thriving” in this context?) who gather in the park in the early morning, but disappear shortly after dawn.  Bob seems to be the Elder Statesman of the group, maybe because he’s the only one with a vehicle.

When I stopped to say hello to him the other day, he told me that he now realizes that he has become the man he always wanted to be.  I wasn't sure how to respond … I mean, the man is homeless!  He’s sitting in his van, and the seat beside him and dashboard are piled high with all his possessions, mostly books.  It doesn't seem to me that he’s achieved anything that anyone would consider worthwhile. 

He explained it like this:  “Every afternoon, I have time to play my guitar, and people gather around me and listen and enjoy my playing.  And many of the people who come by, like you, stop to say hello and see how I’m doing.  I talk to happy people all day long, and everyone is interested in what I have to say and I’m interested in them.  I have this beautiful view (the lush green landscaped park grounds, surrounded by majestic trees).  And the people round here (the other homeless guys) come to me for help sometimes, and most times, there is something I can do to help.”

I can see what he means.  I want the same things:  having a talent, something I can do that brings enjoyment to other people, a community of people who care about me and respect me and my views, beautiful surroundings, and the ability to help others. 

Bob, the homeless guy in the park, has the same goals and life dreams as I have … only he’s got them all in order, and I’m still working on mine.  

I've got a ways to go yet.